


Tell a story that begins with a ransom note.

by HansonPhreek



Series: 642 Things to Write [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baking, Fluff, Hostage Situations, M/M, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7705510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HansonPhreek/pseuds/HansonPhreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry takes a hostage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell a story that begins with a ransom note.

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but this story. I make no money from it.

_D.M._  
_I have your stuffed dragon. If you ever want to see Sir Flops-A-Lot again you will bring me a dozen personally baked, made from scratch chocolate ship bourbon muffins by ten pm.  
_H.P._ _

“Damn that Potter,” Draco growled as he measured ingredients into a bowl in the kitchen of Malfoy Manor. “I never should have told him about these infernal muffins.” He carefully mixed the batter until it was the proper consistency. 

“Stupid talkative drunk,” he mumbled. “Why do I have to share so much when I drink?” With a flick of his wand the batter was evenly divided into a muffin tin. He cross the kitchen, stomping his feet slightly and still mumbling angrily. “Just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?” Draco shoved the baking pan roughly into the oven and set the timer. 

He flopped onto a stool at the kitchen island and scowled at the room at large. “Had to tell him about your stupid childhood toy; and your crazy love for baking.” He paused. “Idiot.” He summoned the bottle of bourbon he'd used in the recipe and took a large swig.

“Stupid Potter. Using his varied talents against me.” His scowl deepened. “He knows I can't think coherently when he touches me like that.” Draco sighed. “Mix that with alcohol and I'm liable to say anything.” He mumbled, “stupid Potter,” again before falling silent. He sat there like that drinking the bourbon while the muffins baked.

When the timer sounded, Draco frowned at the now empty bourbon bottle. He grumbled incoherently and waved his wand. The muffins flew out of the oven and landed softly on the counter next to him. They were perfect. Draco checked the clock. 9:47. He had thirteen minutes to track down the damn Gryffindor. “Trinkie!” A small and skinny house elf appeared with a pop. “Box these muffins.”

“Y-yes master,” the elf squeaked.

While the elf worked, Draco exited the kitchen. He made his way to the entryway of the Manor and checked his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace there. He looked only mildly disheveled. It would have to do; he didn't have time to re-dress. The elf appeared beside him with a white box wrapped in a green ribbon. Draco took the box and waved the elf away. She bowed and disappeared with another pop.

Draco made a short list in his head of all the possible places Harry could be hiding and quickly put them in order by likelihood. He grabbed some floo powder, tossed it into the fireplace, stepped in, and said calmly, “Number 12 Grimmauld Place.” A few spinning moments later he stepped gracefully into the kitchen of the old Black family home. Well, as gracefully as a half-drunk and pissed off Malfoy could.

“Draco Malfoy,” a voice greeted him from a shadowy corner. “So nice of you to join me.”

“Potter! You give me what is rightfully mine this instance!” Draco half-shouted. The alcohol was making it hard for him to keep his indifferent mask in place. 

“Did you bring the goods?”

Draco growled and tossed the box on the table in front of him. “Here's your damn muffins.”

“Did you make them yourself?”

“Of course I bloody well did,” Draco shouted. “Now where is Sir Flops-A-Lot?”

Harry stepped out of the shadows grinning like the cat that go the cream and holding a well-loved green stuffed dragon. Draco darted forward but Harry's seeker reflexes were sharper than the blond's and he got away. “Ah ah ah. I haven't counted the ransom yet.”

Draco growled again but remained still. Harry took a seat at the table, placing the toy dragon carefully in front of him. He slowly pulled the box toward him and painstakingly untied the ribbon. Draco glared at the other man but kept his mouth shut. With the bourbon coursing through his veins he couldn't trust himself to speak. As Harry carefully opened the box Draco swore silently to himself to never let the damned Gryffindor near him again.

Harry counted the muffins and his grin got even bigger. “Very good, Draco.” The blond simply glared daggers at him. “My. my. If looks could kill.” Harry stood up and, taking the dragon with him, moved around the table. He stopped when he was only a few inches from Draco. “Here you go.”

Draco reverently took his dragon from Harry and carefully looked it over. He cooed as quietly as possible to the toy, “Did the mean ol' man hurt you, Sir Flops-A-Lot?” He hugged the dragon to his chest and turned a glare on Harry once more. “I hate you.”

Harry's grin didn't even falter a tiny bit. He stepped closer to the Slytherin and said, “I love you too.” Before Draco could say or do anything else, Harry crushed their lips together in a searing kiss. Draco melted into the brunet and suddenly couldn't remember why he'd been so mad just a moment before.


End file.
